by Bob Blink
"It's actually not too bad," Glen said. "I've put a couple of hundred break in rounds through it at the range."
"And there you were wearing ear protection and in a large space," Mark noted. "You'll be surprised how deafening that thing is in an enclosed space, especially without the ear muffs. You'd be better off with .38 Special loads. Can you hit anything with it."
From the way Glen hesitated Mark knew he hadn't performed very well.
"Good enough, I think," Glen said finally.
"Let's hope you don't need that thing," Mark said finally. "Let's go see how the ladies are making out."
Jessie had apparently finished showing Steph the basics of the shotgun, and they were placing the loaded weapon against the wall where it could reached easily enough, but where it was also safely out of the way.
"We need some help," Glen noted. "This is far too big for just us."
"If only we had some evidence to support our side of this thing," Jessie said. "I can't see anyone believing us given the situation. Johnson is seemingly alive and unharmed, the meeting facility has been deserted for years, and there is video evidence of us shooting and killing Monica, and I'll bet they have us tagged as the killers of Pam as well."
"We go in, and we're going to end up in jail and need a bank of lawyers to ever get free again," Steph said. Apparently she'd been doing considerable thinking on the matter as they'd made their escape from D.C. "Our story sounds absolutely crazy. Maybe if we'd gone in that first night."
"Let's sleep on the matter," Mark suggested, thinking the police wouldn't have been any more likely to believe them then, with no body to support their story that Johnson had been shot. "Give things a day or so to settle down. Maybe we can come up with someone who might help, or some kind of idea. I'm hoping that Fred can find something in the code that we can show to whoever we talk to as an indication something is going on. It should be in all of our phones. Mine, at least, is locked away at home."
The women took the two beds. A couple of trunks contained a plentiful supply of blankets, allowing Mark and Glen to make up comfortable spots on the floor not too far from the fireplace. As they settled in Mark wondered if Fred would even tackle the task he'd asked of him after seeing the video clearly showing Mark shooting and killing Monica.
Chapter 20
Wednesday
No clear answer to their dilemma presented itself the next morning, but the general consensus was that they needed to turn themselves in. None were interested in a life of hiding, and while their story was unlikely to be believed, seeking help was about all they could do. Jessie was convinced she could find support among some of those she worked with, although not her boss with whom she had a very checkered history. Mark wanted something to show they weren't making things up, and hoped that Fred would have taken the challenge presented, and found something in the altered code. He indicated his wish to contact his co-worker before doing anything irreversible.
"He hasn't had time?" Steph said, recalling how difficult her friend had said the task would be.
"He should have gotten it last night," Mark argued. "He has been known to work all night on something that grabs his interest. By early afternoon he should have some idea if he's going to be able to break it."
"How are you going to contact him?" Jessie asked. "We don't want any calls to him that can be traced to this area, on a phone they recognize or not."
"It's only a couple of hours back into Washington. I'll drive into the city and make a call from within the city limits. If he doesn't have anything, then I'll simply come back. If he does, I'll either get him to tell me, or more likely arrange a meeting with him."
"Ah, we only have the one vehicle," Glen pointed out. "And if you get caught?"
"I won't tell them about this place. It's a risk I'm willing to take."
"But not one the rest of are willing to chance," Jessie said. "If you go in, I'm going along, and we're going to spend the morning hijacking a car to use. The Jeep remains unused and clean. It's hard to come by something that isn't stolen or on the books in some way."
The matter was argued for some time, but since they had nothing else that might provide some indication of the truth of their situation, they finally agreed. Jessie and Mark headed out late that morning, and by one o'clock they returned with a 'borrowed' vehicle.
"We switched the plate off an old junker in a field along the way," Mark said with a grin.
"So now we'd added car theft to our growing list of crimes," Glen complained.
"Not important compared to the murder charge they already have outstanding on all of us," Jessie said. "Besides, we boosted it off a car lot in a town more than an hour from here. It's possible it won't be missed until we are finished with it, and the owner will get it back intact, so he won't be particularly concerned about pressing charges. We'll send him a couple of hundred dollars for the 'loan'."
"When are you leaving for Washington?" Steph asked, not wanting to focus on what was already done.
"Right after we eat," Jessie said, producing a couple of bags of junk food she'd picked up on the way back to the cabin."
Mark and Jessie arrived in the western part of Washington around two in the afternoon, circled part way around the beltway, and found a small shopping center with a few worn, but functional public phones. Mark called Fred at his office, pleased to have the phone answered almost immediately.
"Fred, it's Mark," he said when he heard the voice of his co-worker. He figured it was unlikely that anyone had tapped Fred's office phone, although they might be monitoring his personal equipment. Anyone who checked with those at work would have told the Feds that the two worked together, but no one would have indicated they were personally close. Fred didn't have a reputation of having many friends.
"Man, what are you into?" Fred asked. "I saw you on television killing that woman, and the police and FBI have been here interviewing everyone. I'm sure they are watching the place, although they have no reason to think you'd call anyone here."
"Can we talk?" Mark asked.
"Sure. I put a little homemade device on my line. I can tell if anyone is listening in."
"Did you get my package?"
"Arrived yesterday just as I was about to leave the house for our meeting. Spent all night on it, and part of today."
"At work?"
"Yeah, your situation has completely changed things around. Abe put Marty in charge of the project. You know him. The only good idea is one he thought of, or that management has directed. Threw out all my ideas to improve the project. Pissed me off, so I said screw it. The baseline code has already been beta tested, so he and Tammy can do what they want."
"Tammy's still working with you?"
"Yeah. That's one upset woman, Mark. I told you she had the hots for you. The news video has her all distraught. Surprised she can work at all. But I wouldn't contact her now. It's pretty obvious what her feelings are, and I'll bet they are monitoring her pretty closely.
"I'm sorry about Tammy, but none of this was planned."
"Well, whatever it's about, you've totally screwed yourself for any further employment at NSA. Abe has already filed formal termination papers on you, and from what I've seen, you'll be spending the rest of your days in prison if they catch you. What do you care about some strange phone code? You should be working on getting out of the country and disappearing."
"Did you manage to figure out what's in the code?" Mark asked hopefully.
"Of course. At least most of it. There's a small block that simply doesn't seem to decode in any way. Nothing particularly exciting, actually."
"And?"
"I'll tell you after we meet. I want to know what this is about first. How about tonight, where we originally planned."
"That's risky for both of us. Why don't you simply tell me what you found?"
"Hey, no one will follow me the way I'll get there. And I assume they aren't following you or they'd have grabbed you. You want what I got, it's about twenty pa
ges of specifics, you'll meet me there at eight. Gotta go. Someone's coming."
Mark looked the handset after hearing Fred's disconnect.
"Well?" Jessie asked.
"Say's he figured it out," Mark said, replacing the handset in the cradle. "But I'll have to meet him tonight if I want to know what he found."
"Meet him? Where? It sounds like a setup to me."
"Not with Fred. He wouldn't agree to do that. He's too much of an oddball. Hates authority. Unless someone crossed him personally, he'd never help the cops."
"Why couldn't he simply tell you now?"
"In part because there are too many people around him, and in part, he probably wants to grab a bit of vicarious pleasure by being a part of whatever this is. He's like that."
"I'd give it a pass," Jessie advised.
"It's too important. If he really has figured it out, and Fred isn't one to falsely boast about his achievements, we might get some clue as to what we have gotten caught up in. I can do this alone. We have time to go back to the cabin, and I can return this evening for the meeting. You and the others can be prepared to move out, and if I'm not back by a certain time, you can assume I've been grabbed. That'll be your trigger to get out."
"You should have backup," Jessie said.
"You have already made it clear you believe it's a bad move. I'm sure you believe Fred's setting up the meet for the Feds. I'm the one who has confidence in Fred. If this works, I'll get back with no problems. If not, you won't be taken with me. The others are going to need your guidance."
That evening as Mark pulled into the parking lot of the cheap establishment where he was to meet with Fred, he wished he hadn't been so strong opinioned when the group had discussed the situation when he and Jessie returned to the cabin. In the end, he drove off alone, but now he wished that he had someone with Jessie's capabilities here with him. He circled through the parking lot, really a section of dirt field, where the patrons parked. None of the vehicles looked out of place to him, so he parked in a spot not too afar from the entrance that had a clear shot at the road. That was probably silly. If there was a trap set here, he wasn't likely to get back to his car, and even if he did, outrunning the Feds and a helicopter or two wasn't going to happen. His heart beat a bit faster at the thought of what might be his fate in a few minutes.
Too late to back out, he thought, and opened the door and stepped out into the cold evening air.
Inside the strip joint, it didn't take him long to spot Fred. Most of the patrons were crowded up close to the runway where the girls danced, but Fred was set back in a dark spot along one wall. With only a brief glance around, he headed over there. Silently, he slipped into the booth.
"No one followed you in," Fred said, making it clear he'd been watching. It showed he was a bit nervous as well. Fred indicated the second beer that was waiting for Mark.
"You're in a heap of trouble," Fred said unnecessarily. "What's this all about? You're not the type to be involved in something like this."
"You'd be better off not knowing, I think."
"Probably so, but if you want what I got, you're gonna have to tell what's going on. Why did you kill that woman? Who was she?"
"She was one of us," Mark said.
"Us? Who is us?"
"Originally there were eight of us." Mark gave Fred a condensed version of events.
"That's the weirdest story I've ever heard. Cops didn't say anything about a sci-fi like weapon or anyone being vanished."
"They might be suppressing that part, or possibly no one saw it. It happened suddenly. I'm hoping they have recordings of it, and just aren't telling the public. Like you, who'd believe it? We have no proof, and you can see how far out it all sounds."
"I can see how most of it could have been done by an elaborate set up, but why would anyone bother?
"Yeah, why?
"So it has to be aliens," Fred said.
There it was. The word that Mark had been trying to avoid for some time now. Some of what he had observed seemed most easily explained by such a possibility, especially the way Johnson and Jerry had vanished. He tried to push the thought aside, but now Fred had brought it into the open. But then Fred had long been an alien conspiracy advocate. He believed the government had aliens and alien ships in Area 51, and spoke about it passionately if given any chance. Mark hesitated for a long moment.
"No, probably not," he said finally. "Although it sure seems someone is trying to make it seem that way."
"Nothing else makes sense," Fred argued. "Your story isn't possible otherwise."
"Maybe you found something that makes that clearer?" Mark asked. He didn't want to get the man off on a tangent.
"I don't know what I found. I hoped talking with you would give some reference point. It hasn't."
"Well?"
"Okay. Basically what you have in this block of code are a number of audio files. They play like audio files."
Fred passed across a thumb drive that contained the decoded material.
"The problem is, none of them sound like any language I've ever heard. I even passed a couple through the company language translator, and it came up with nothing. But I can sense language when I hear it."
Mark couldn't help but think of the strange phrase Johnson had come up with just before being consumed.
"And?"
"And nothing. I played every one of them, but have no idea what is being said, or directed. Somehow I think they are a set of commands, each associated with some triggering code. The phone would play them if properly triggered, at least that's my guess."
Mark was eager to hear the files, but was also afraid of what they might trigger in himself and the others.
"You said on the phone that that there was something you couldn't make sense of."
"I think it's some kind of operational instructions for some hardware. Even if I had the phone I couldn't be certain because I don't know much about hardware. But that's the way it seems to fit in."
Mark tried to put this new information into some perspective. As he tried to formulate an answer to Fred, an unfamiliar voice interrupted them.
"Don't anyone move," it said, in a tone that indicated the person wouldn't accept any failure to comply.
Mark turned his head slowly in the direction it had come from, his eyes coming to rest on a surprising figure. The man's dress marked him as one of the regulars here. Mismatched clothing of an approximate fit, and all old, worn, wrinkled, and stained. The ragged baseball cap that had hid the inappropriate neat and well-trimmed hair, at this range no longer did its job. The face also lacked the pale, sagging flesh, usually marked with several days stubble of the usual patrons of this place. Instead Mark saw a pair of intelligent eyes, in a thirtyish face looking back at him.
There was no mistaking the gun and badge that the man held, one in each hand. The gun, a Glock that looked exactly like the one Jessie carried, was pointed rock steady at Mark. The Badge was readily identified, with the F.B.I. lettering easy for him to read. The man didn't look old enough to be an FBI agent, but somehow Mark was certain he was the real thing.
"Damn it, Fred,' he said, assuming that his friend had turned him in.
"Your friend didn't lead me here," the voice said. "At least not intentionally."
The eyes shifted toward Fred, but the gun remained steady on Mark's breastbone.
"I suggest you sit quietly Mr. Silverman. From what I overheard you aren't really part of this. I'm going to allow you to leave, after I've taken your friend into custody. If you do as told, and make yourself available for later questioning, you will not be charged with anything. Make even the slightest trouble, and you will regret it the rest of your days."
"I didn't lead him here, Mark," Fred said defensively. "There's no way he could have followed me."
"That's probably true," the agent said. "Fortunately, for me, Fred here writes things down. He wrote down the name of this place the other day, and left it on his desk calendar. I took a chance
that he might meet you here. Last night was a disappointment, but it looks like tonight is working out differently."
The agent's eyes had shifted back to Mark.
"Now, Mr. Wilson, you are under arrest for the murder of Mrs. Monica Parker. I'll read you your rights in a moment, but for now, keeping your hands on the table, you will slide out, then lean against the table with your arms spread and your legs well out behind you. Any false moves could result in your being shot."
The bar had become silent as patrons realized what was happening in their midst. Several shouted out angry epitaphs toward the agent, but none chose to interfere. They didn't know Mark, so for them it was more of a show. Only the fact the agent was the law caused some to automatically side against him.
Despite two potential adversaries plus a bar full of possible hostiles, Mark was soon disarmed and cuffed. Both his handguns had been confiscated, while Fred sat where ordered, waiting until he was allowed to leave.
"We'll go first," the agent said. "Once we're in my car, the rest can do as they wish."
"Agent," Mark began.
"Special Agent Tom Burrows," the FBI agent informed him. "We can discuss this interesting story of yours once we get to FBI headquarters. I want my partner in on this discussion. I'll call him once we're on the way."
Mark slumped. There was little he could say that would alter the situation. The thumb drive had been taken as well as his guns, and even if armed, he couldn't see himself in a gunfight with this man.
Mark let himself be led out the door, and was first to step out into the cold air. He sensed the arm pressure that directed him away from the bar toward an older Toyota parked toward the back of the lot. He sensed rather than heard that something had changed partway to the vehicle. When he turned there was no command for him to continue walking. Instead he saw that Jessie had her weapon pointed at the agent, and was relieving the man of his own. A moment later Mark was armed once again, Fred's thumb drive was in his pocket, and he once again was essentially a free man.
"I said I was coming alone," he said to Jessie.